The sun hangs low, casting long golden shadows across the dusty road. Chinonye, with tired eyes from a long journey, walks with purpose.
âWhat is that smell?â
[Laughter] [Music] [Snorts]
âMama! Is that you? Why do you look like this?â
âOh, you are here.â
âWhat? What happened to my mother?â
âYour mother has not been well for a long time. We have been managing.â
âManaging? She is sitting in the dirt eating rubbish, and you call that managing?â